


Sharing is Caring

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: A birthday gift for the inimitable Rowofstars! Rush and Lacey find themselves sharing a hotel room at a conference and, as luck would have it, there's only one bed! What are they to do?Completely contrived fluff.





	Sharing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rowofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/gifts).



It was a predicament Nicholas Rush didn’t ordinarily find himself in.

It was rare enough he was in the same room as a beautiful woman, let alone sharing a bed with one. And yet, here he was, at the conference from hell, with Lacey Fucking French stretched out next to him in the queen sized bed of the moderately priced hotel booked for said hell conference.

Or overbooked as luck would have it.

He was giving a presentation first thing in the morning for the 38th Annual International Symposium for Mathematical Physicists and he should either be sleeping or reviewing his notes. Instead he was lying awake, staring at the back of Lacey French’s head on the pillow next to him.

He sighed and rolled on to his back, staring up at the ceiling instead.

Lacey French wasn’t even his grad assistant for crying out loud. He’d left Eli behind knowing the boy would get next to nothing out of the conference and would be better served back in Berkley. The ancient Professor Ryan who boasted Lacey Fucking French as his grad assistant had brought her along, no doubt at Miss French’s behest purely for the travel opportunity to New York City, but failed to book her a room. And due to the conference, there were none available. And of course Professor Ryan wasn’t about to sully his 50-year marriage to dear Mildred by sharing a room with his beautiful 25-year-old student. And somehow, before he could even think about what he was saying as he overheard all this in the lobby of the hotel at 11:00 this morning, the words “you can share my room” spewed right out of his mouth.

Lacey had spun around, her eyes wide as she took in Rush behind her.

“Really?” she almost snorted at him. Rush had regretted his offer immediately. He didn’t get along with Lacey Fucking French. She was brilliant but lazy. She drank too much and worked too little and still somehow managed to scrape by just by the skin of her teeth. He couldn’t abide the waste of her talents if she’d only just apply herself.

But her eyes were so very blue and the corner of her mouth that turned up in the beginnings of a smile as he stared at her dumbfounded looked positively kissable.

Rush shook his head.

“Of course not,” he said, recanting his words. “I’m sure there’s someone more suitable you could share with.”

Lacey shrugged. “There’s really not. I don’t mind if you don’t.”

And so he’d found himself taking the elevator up to the eleventh floor with Lacey Fucking French at his side.

Of course, there was only a new fresh hell awaiting them there when the cramped room only held one bed. And no couch. And very little floor space to kip on comfortably.

Lacey hadn’t even seemed to notice, dropping her suitcase on the bed and heading straight into the en suite bathroom. When he’d heard the shower flip on, Rush had immediately fled the room back down to the lobby on the off chance that they could offer up a cot. Of course, all cots had been claimed already.

Rush had spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the hotel, familiarizing himself with the conference space, and making sure there wouldn’t be any technical mishaps for his presentation the following morning. He’d also been spending that time trying desperately not to think about the fact that Lacey Fucking French was upstairs in their shared room naked, wet, in the shower. A woman he found irritating on the best of days, but who also unfortunately had legs for days, would somehow be sleeping beside him that night.

He dragged a hand across his face and then he’d headed to the hotel bar.

It was there he’d once again spotted Lacey, and if his head had been screwed on right he would have anticipated as much. She was dressed demurely as ever in a short black cocktail dress that seemed to be entirely missing its back.

He contemplated backing out of the bar and heading back up to the room now that he knew it was blessedly empty, but Lacey noticed him before he could make a move.

“Hey there, roomie,” she said, motioning him over with a wink.

That was another thing Rush found distressing about Lacey French. He was never quite sure if she was flirting with him or making fun of him. Or worse, flirting with him solely for the purpose of mocking him. Heaven knows she wouldn’t actually be interested in a misanthropic professor nearly twice her age.

Which was a moot point anyway because he very much was not interested in Lacey Fucking French, thank you very much. If only he didn’t have to remind himself of the fact so very often.

He walked the short distance over to the bar, claiming the stool next to Lacey as she turned. From the front, her dress was deceptively modest with its high neckline. Her hair was pulled up away from her face, a few curls escaping and cascading down her neck. Her lips were painted blood red and her eyes were as blue as ever. She was breathtaking.

He realized he was staring and Rush covered his momentary lapse by ordering a scotch, aware of Lacey’s eyes on him the whole time.

“Aren’t you gonna change?” she asked once he had his drink in hand, giving his jeans and blazer the once over. Rush looked down at himself but couldn’t for the life of him understand the point of her question.

“Why would I?”

“The welcome cocktail mixer is in a half hour,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Rush shrugged. “I think I’m suitably dressed to drink well liquor for fifteen minutes with a room full of academics. We can’t all be the sharp dressers you are, Miss French.”

“Is it too much?” she asked, twirling her barstool away from him and giving him another look at the creamy bare skin of her naked back.

“I don’t think you know the meaning of that notion,” he shot back.

Lacey arched one dark brow at him.

“You like the way I dress,” she countered. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking.”

“People stare at a spectacle, Miss French, “ he ground out. “Whether they’re interested or not.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Something white hot that transfixed him and terrified him in equal measure. But soon it was gone, replaced by a roll of her eyes and a bubble of laughter.

“Fair enough,” she said, raising her glass to his in a toast. Rush wasn’t sure what they were toasting. He was an asshole. He wasn’t even sure why he was being an asshole other than that Lacey French made him uncomfortable because she was far too pretty and far too smart and far too close to him.

“What’s the toast for?” he blurted out.

Lacey gave a shrug of one slim shoulder.

“You survived the afternoon,” she said. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you fared well outside of your natural habitat.”

“And what is my natural habitat, Miss French?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink and already dreading her answer.

“Your own office of course,” she said with a snort. “Cloistered away with your white boards and your coffee pot, only emerging for the occasional smoke break.”

“I enjoy my work,” he said tersely.

Lacey chuckled, stirring the ice in her drink around with her straw.

“So do I, but I still have a social life.”

“And what makes you think you know so much about me?” he demanded.

Lacey slurped a sip through her straw, narrowing her eyes at him, but otherwise seeming unperturbed by his snappish behavior.

“Because you’re the first person in the office in the mornings and the last one to leave at night. Because you frequently wear the same shirt two days in a row and sport a day’s stubble making me believe you quite likely sleep in your office, if you sleep at all. You don’t wear a wedding ring and you didn’t have the same qualms about sharing a room with me that Dr. Ryan did so I think it’s safe to say you’re unmarried, not that any marriage could survive your work schedule. And because when I come in to work on Saturdays, because I do my best thinking in solitude, yours is the only other car I see in the faculty parking lot meaning you don’t even take the weekends for yourself. Am I getting anywhere close to the truth here?”

Rush felt himself rendered speechless. Damn Lacey French was more observant than he’d given her credit for. And he certainly hadn’t known she frequented the physics building on Saturdays like he did.

Lacey smirked, clearly certain she’d won the point. She opened her clutch, pulling a few dollars out and placing them on the bar before standing from her stool so gracefully it belied the cocktail and her four inch heels.

She placed one hand on Rush’s shoulder, leaning in close.

“You see,” she breathed against his ear, making goosebumps erupt across the back of his neck. “You’re not the only one who stares at a spectacle, _Nicky_.”

And then she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume and the unnerving thought that no one in 48 years of life had ever had the gall to call him Nicky.

The night only got worse from there.

Rush endured a full twenty minutes socialization with his peers before he was escaping the cocktail party to have a cigarette on the street outside the hotel. He’d only stayed at the party that long because Lacey had failed to turn up and there was no way he was going up to the room and facing her again anytime soon. He’d insulted her, she’d insulted him, and now they were supposed to share close quarters for the weekend.

Perhaps if he wandered the streets for a few hours, she’d fall asleep and he could sneak back in without her notice.

But he wanted to review his notes for his presentation tomorrow and his laptop was upstairs in the room.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, flicking away his cigarette butt and heading back into the damned hotel.

It dawned on Rush somewhere around the sixth floor that perhaps Lacey’s dress hadn’t been for the conference’s welcome cocktail party at all. She certainly would have been out of place amid the sea of black, navy or tan blazers. Perhaps she had a big night on the town planned. She was young, beautiful, and clearly better at socialization that he. There was every possibility he’d be awoken at 4 am by Lacey stumbling in from the night before in which case he could just get up for the day and they’d effectively avoid the bed sharing altogether.

Feeling remarkably better about his situation, Rush pushed open the door to his hotel room, looking forward to an evening spent alone with his notes.

Instead, he was greeted by the image of Lacey French, lying across the bed on her stomach, her long legs kicking in the air behind her as she ate pepperoni pizza out of a box.

“Oh, hey,” she said, putting her slice of pizza back down in the box and sitting up, crossing her legs beneath her. She grabbed the television remote beside her and muted the TV, which seemed to be tuned to some old black and white movie.

It was only then that Rush registered what Lacey was wearing, a thin white camisole edged in lace and covered in tiny blue flowers along with a matching pair of the tiniest shorts Rush had ever seen. In fact he thought they qualified more as briefs than shorts. Her hair was down, spilling across her shoulders in long, lovely chestnut waves and her face was scrubbed clean of its usual makeup. She looked young, and fresh, and more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. 

“I ordered pizza,” Lacey said, motioning to the half eaten pie beside her. “You know, New York is supposed to have the best. You can have some if you want.”

Rush was still frozen in the doorway, but he finally made his way inside, letting the door shut behind him.

“Thanks,” he managed, shrugging out of his blazer and hanging it in the small closet by the door in an effort to give his hands something to do. Lacey French would be sleeping next to him in that? Why couldn’t she wear a flannel nightgown that went to her ankles? Or a onesie with bunnies on the feet?

Given there was nowhere else in the room to sit, Rush plopped down on the bed, leaning against the headboard and putting as much space between himself and Lacey as possible.

“Pizza?” she said again, nudging the box in his direction. It did smell good, and the spread at the cocktail party had been paltry at best. Rush’s stomach took the opportunity to growl loudly and Lacey smirked.

Rush pulled the box toward himself, picking up a slice and watching as the cheese stretched to impossible lengths before finally snapping apart.

“Why didn’t you come to the party?” he asked before taking a bite of the pizza. Now that his hypothesis that Lacey had a night out planned had been disproved he wondered why she’d been in the hotel bar earlier tonight at all.

Lacey shrugged, a fetching blush tinting her cheeks.

“You were right,” she said. “About the dress, I mean. The spectacle. I get away with that stuff back home because people know me, but here, with all these important people at an international symposium? It would have been stupid to show up like that.”

The pizza he’d been so enjoying a mere moment ago seemed to turn to ash on Rush’s tongue at that. Lacey had come back up to the room, ordered herself a pizza and stayed in because of one asshole remark on his end? An asshole remark he’d made just to cover up the fact that he so deeply appreciated her appearance?

“You looked beautiful,” he said before he could help himself. “I mean, earlier, in the dress. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Lacey arched an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t you?”

Rush wasn’t sure what to say because, yes, he had meant to make her feel bad. She’d caught him looking and he wanted to wipe the smirk off her face. Because he was a bastard and a fool and an unmitigated ass.

“It’s okay,” Lacey said with another shrug. “I basically called you a friendless loser. And anyway, Bringing Up Baby was on and I haven’t seen it in ages.”

She motioned at the television on the wall where a man and woman were driving in a car seemingly with a leopard on the backseat.

“Ah,” Rush said. “Well, don’t mute it on my account. Watch whatever you like.”

“Are you sure?” Lacey asked, reaching for the remote. “You don’t require total silence in the evenings or some such?”

“No,” Rush bristled. For some reason it bothered him that Lacey saw him as such a stick in the mud. He wasn’t always as married to his work as he was now. “By all means, watch your movie.”

Lacey grinned, turning the volume back up as she lay back down across the bed on her belly, crossing her ankles behind her and giving Rush a quite perfect view of her barely covered backside. Rush grabbed his laptop, settling it over his lap and opening up his presentation to stare blankly at it instead of letting his eyes drift over to the much more appealing view of Lacey. He managed to get through two of his slides before being distracted once again.

Lacey let out a loud laugh at something that happened on the screen and Rush found himself enchanted. Her laugh was absolutely delightful. Not the sly little chuckle she sometimes let out at his expense, but a full-bodied laugh. Soon Rush found himself neglecting his notes altogether, instead watching Lacey watch the screwball comedy play out on the television. By the time Cary Grant was hoisting a dangling Katherine Hepburn up from above a pile of brontosaurus bones, he had closed his laptop completely.

“What did you think?” Lacey asked, glancing over her shoulder at Rush as the credits rolled.

Rush shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying much attention,” he lied.

Lacey sighed, rolling on to her back and stretching her arms up above her head. The motion made her camisole ride up and Rush was treated to the sight of her lovely flat little stomach. He darted his eyes away to stare at the wall instead.

“I love that movie,” Lacey said contentedly. “I love anything with Katherine Hepburn. That was a woman, you know?”

“Sure,” Rush said noncommittally. At the moment he was having trouble remembering any woman but the one in front of him.

Lacey stifled a yawn, sitting up to look at the clock on the side table.

“Shit, it’s late,” she said. “Aren’t you the first lecture tomorrow? You should probably get some sleep.”

Rush nodded, packing up his laptop and moving the bag into the closet. He’d effectively been sharing a bed with Lacey for the last hour as they watched the movie, but there was something about actually lying down next to someone and falling asleep that was far too intimate for his liking. And of course, Lacey was wearing shorts.

“I’m gonna pop into the bathroom to get ready for bed,” Lacey said. “So you can change in here while I’m in there if you want. Promise I wont peek.”

Lacey disappeared into the en suite, the faucet turning on a moment later and Rush found a whole new aspect of this night to panic about.

He didn’t pack any bloody pajamas. He planned to sleep in his underwear like any normal man who thought he’d have a room to himself. He certainly hadn’t thought to grab a pair to bring to the conference on the off chance he ended up in bed with Lacey Fucking French.

A moment later the bathroom door opened and Lacey popped her head out.

“Are you decent?” she asked.

Rush was still standing in the exact place she’d left him wearing the exact clothes she’d left him in.

“Decent,” he replied.

Lacey came all the way out of the bathroom, toting a bottle of lotion with her before plopping down on the bed and squirting an ample amount of the lotion in to her hand. Then she gave Rush a confused look.

“Aren’t you going to change?” she asked him for the second time that night. “Or do you prefer to sleep in jeans?”

Rush glanced down at himself and contemplated actually doing as she said.

“I, uh, don’t have anything to change in to,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?” Lacey said, pausing in the very distracting task of rubbing lotion on her sinfully long legs. Honestly how such a petite woman had such incredible legs, he’d never know.

“I bloody well sleep in pants, don’t I?” he snapped. “But I can’t very well strip down to my underwear now.”

“Oh,” Lacey said with a shrug, returning to lathering up her already supple skin to ridiculous proportions. “Well don’t turn shy on my account. I promise you I’ve seen a man’s bare legs before. You won’t shock my womanly sensibilities.”

Rush rolled his eyes. Yes, he was sure the sight of his chicken legs would in no way shock Lacey. It didn't mean he was keen to let her see him in his underwear. 

"Look, I asked the front desk about a cot earlier but they're all out," he said, stalling for time. "I'm happy to sleep on the floor..."

Lacey cut him off with a wave of her hand. "The bed is plenty big enough for both of us," she reasoned. "I promise I don't bite. Unless of course you ask me to," she added with a wink. 

Rush swallowed audibly. "Yes, well, as long as you don't mind." 

Lacey shook her head. "Don't mind in the least, Dr. Rush." 

Rush nodded, slapping his hands together stupidly as cast around for any other reason to delay stripping off his jeans.

"Well, I'll just --" he motioned to the bathroom door and Lacey just blinked at him as she started applying her lotion to her arms and chest, her fingers dipping below the already low neckline of her top. She really was going to kill him if he watched for one moment more. So he grabbed his overnight bag and scurried inside the en suite. 

Rush took his time to brush his teeth and scrub his face. Then he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, hating every inch of his own lined face. He needed a haircut. And a shave. And an extra twenty pounds of muscle. And even then he'd still be a skinny little runt. 

“You stupid bloody wanker,” he muttered at himself.

He stripped down to his boxers, tossing his dirty clothes back into his bag, and pulled out a fresh t-shirt. Looking down at himself he tried to see himself through Lacey’s eyes. But all he saw were knobby knees, a too thin frame, and a man who was well past his prime.

With a sigh he flipped off the bathroom light and headed back into the bedroom. Lacey had already turned back the covers, lying back against the pillows and Rush quickly moved to join her in an effort to give her as little a view of his boxers as possible.

“Goodnight, Dr. Rush,” Lacey said, that infernal smirk once again in place, as he clamored into the bed.

“Goodnight, Miss French.”

Lacey flipped off her bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness, and turned on to her side.

And now here he was, lying in the dark next to Lacey French and willing his body to control itself. He was an adult for crying out loud. He could handle sleeping in a bed with a woman. A woman he found infuriating and intriguing and absolutely bloody gorgeous. A woman who seemed to be so much more than he’d ever given her credit for.

The bright city lights beyond the hotel window kept the room from total darkness and Rush could make out the cascade of dark curls across her pillow, her milky white shoulder seeming to glow in the low light.

The bed wasn’t overly large and despite keeping a respectful distance, he could still feel her warmth from the other side of the bed. He could smell her, warm and floral and feminine. A mad part of him wanted to curl up behind her and bury his face in her hair, to see if he could find the source of that mouthwatering smell.

Instead he crossed his arms against his chest, tucking his hands underneath his armpits to keep them from taking on a mind of their own.

“I can feel you staring at me,” came Lacey’s voice only slightly muffled by the plush hotel pillow.

Rush coughed, then rolled on to his back, his eyes betraying him by staying fixed on the back of Lacey’s head.

“I’m not staring,” he said.

Lacey cast a glance over her shoulder and Rush didn’t have enough time to look away smoothly.

“Right,” Lacey snorted, turning over so she was facing him. “You weren’t staring. You just like a spectacle and I can’t help but create one even when I’m just trying to sleep.”

“No,” Rush insisted, one of his hands escaping its armpit confine and reaching out toward her. “I didn’t mean that, you know. I was being an ass because you called me out. I think you’re…rather lovely.”

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to be so honest. Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the realization that his careless words actually had an impact on Lacey. Maybe it was the fact that she was looking at him with those big blue eyes, lacking her usual face full of makeup and garish wardrobe, and she looked so soft that he could never lie to her.

Lacey didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him as if coming to a decision. They stared at each other, the moment seemed to stretch between them, the silence deafening, and he prayed to any higher power that something would happen to break it. 

“Look, if I just go ahead and kiss you will it help with the tension here?” she said finally.

“Excuse me?” Rush fairly well squeaked.

“What?” Lacey said, moving slightly closer to him in the dark. “You want to kiss me, I can tell. And I’d definitely kiss you. So why don’t we just get it out of the way and see how it goes? If we don’t like it we can go to sleep and forget it ever happened. If we do like it, well, then we’ll see.”

“Are you insane?” Rush demanded. He wasn’t sure why he was protesting this. He very much would like to kiss Lacey French. But maybe that was the problem. If he kissed her once, he had a feeling he’d forever be lost.

“Possibly,” Lacey agreed. “But I don’t see why it should be such a big deal. You think I’m rather lovely and I think you’re kind of cute, we’re stuck here in this bed together, and frankly the tension in the air is keeping me awake. So why not?”

Rush had no reasonable response to that, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Just one kiss, Nicky,” she whispered, her face suddenly so close, her sweet breath fanning out across his face. “What could it hurt?”

One of Lacey’s hands stole under his t-shirt, tickling against his ribs, and Rush gave a shiver. Her fingers continued their exploration, lightly grazing up and down his chest, stroking over the sparse hair across his belly. He hadn’t had anyone this close in years, no one had touched him like this in years, and suddenly he couldn’t think of one single reason why he shouldn’t kiss Lacey French like his life bloody well depended on it.

Rush’s other hand escaped from his armpit and he reached for her, pulling her flush against him, his mouth capturing hers.

Lacey gave a delighted little gasp and Rush used the opportunity to dip his tongue into her mouth, stroking it against hers. She tasted like spearmint toothpaste, fresh and clean and just a little sweet.

Lacey’s hand moved from underneath Rush’s shirt to wrap her arms around his neck, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back eagerly. His hands gripped on to her hips, his thumbs stroking the strip of skin exposed between her camisole and those infuriating shorts.

Like a man possessed, Rush rolled Lacey beneath him, deepening the kiss. His hand stole around to her backside, kneading the soft flesh there and Lacey wound one sinuously long leg around his hip. He became aware then of how painfully hard he was. They’d barely gotten started and he was already fit to burst, his cock butting against Lacey’s hip.

Lacey chuckled, pulling her other leg up to wrap around his hips, opening herself up so his cock was nestled right against her core. Rush’s hips gave an involuntary buck against hers, seeking out her warmth and Lacey’s hand tightened in his hair as she gasped.

“Watch it, Nicky,” she murmured against his lips. “Nice girls don’t give it up on the first date.”

Rush pulled back, looking down at the woman underneath him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and eyes dark. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Since when have you ever claimed to be nice?” he snarked. “And exactly when did we go on a date?”

Lacey bit her full lower lip, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. “We had dinner and a movie, didn’t we?” she asked, skirting around his first question. “Now you’re kissing me goodnight. Sounds like a date to me.”

Well, when she put it that way, he supposed it did. Though he hadn’t known it was a date at the time. Was it possible Lacey had been working to this end all day? And if so, how had he not managed to royally botch it with his behavior?

“Lucky for you I’m pretty reliably a sex on the second date kind of girl,” Lacey continued, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth. “So I’d say the ball is solidly in your court about when that happens.”

Rush couldn’t help but laugh, a rare enough thing these days. She was fishing for a date.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” he asked. He couldn’t help the seed of nervousness that had taken root in his belly as he asked the question, even though he was fairly certain she’d say yes. He was lying on top of her, in bed, with her legs wrapped around him after all.

“I think there’s every possibility I could be persuaded to have dinner with you tomorrow,” Lacey said. She pulled him down for another kiss, warm, wet and sweet. Her fingers scraped deliciously against the back of his neck and his hands slid up underneath her camisole, skimming against the soft skin of her stomach. Lacey sighed against his mouth, arching into his touch. He was fairly certain he could persuade her to ignore her first date rule, but part of him was enjoying their little game. He wanted to have a proper date with her, to take her out somewhere nice and if he was lucky enough to get to do this again tomorrow night, he’d consider himself truly blessed.

With that in mind, Rush rolled to the side, cupping Lacey’s cheek and giving her one last lingering kiss. She protested as he pulled away, but Rush just held a finger up to her lips.

“I’ll pick you up at 7:30,” he said, smugly.

Lacey let out a frustrated little groan, falling back against the pillows and Rush turned over to face the wall feeling quite proud of himself. Of course he was then left with the rather large problem in his pants keeping him from sleep, his breathing still slightly labored.

He jumped when he felt a small hand wrap around him from behind, splaying across his stomach.

“I think you should get some sleep, Nicky,” Lacey whispered. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Rush slammed his eyes shut as Lacey’s hand trailed lower across his stomach until she was cupping him through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“I said no sex on the first date,” she said wickedly, and he could hear the sadistic little smile in her voice. “I never said anything about hand jobs.”

Rush held his breath as she dipped her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, gripping him lightly.

“Now,” she said, her breath stirring his hair, her pelvis nestled tightly against his backside. “Let’s see if we can relieve that tension.”

He was a fool for thinking he’d ever win a round against Lacey Fucking French.

 


End file.
